


Prince of the Dead

by Sneaky_Apostate



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Grey Warden Brosca, Legion of the Dead, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneaky_Apostate/pseuds/Sneaky_Apostate
Summary: When the Legion of the Dead soldier removed his helmet, Natia nearly choked on her food. That, Natia knew without a shred of doubt, was the exiled prince of Orzammar.
Relationships: Male Aeducan/Female Brosca (Dragon Age)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	Prince of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts).



When the Legion of the Dead soldier removed his helmet, Natia nearly choked on her food. 

She cast a furtive look to the side, noting Alistair and Morrigan’s unchanged expressions, and Oghren’s own disinterested stare. Her hand clenched around her spoon, and she adamantly glared down at her stew, trying to resist the urge to glance up at the dwarf sitting on the opposite side of the fire. 

That, Natia knew without a shred of doubt, was the exiled prince of Orzammar. 

They had joined the Legion battling darkspawn in the Dead Trenches, and had accepted their offer of hospitality at their camp. Bownammar was not a safe location by any means, but the nearby darkspawn had been driven away long enough for them to have a moment of respite in their fortified chamber. 

Which meant that Natia was now stuck in a room with a banished prince for the evening. 

She glanced over at the other members of the legion’s regiment, and they too had barely reacted to the unveiling of their comrade. 

_Do they know?_ Natia thought, almost manically. _Am I the only one who knows?_ Shaking her head, she ate her meal in silence, desperately trying to avoid the urge to outright stare at the man across from her. 

In retrospect, it wasn’t a surprise when the prince approached her after the others had retired for the evening. She hadn’t exactly been sly in her response to him - she never had been able to keep much of a straight face. 

He come to stand beside her at the ledge overing the deep dark of the Dead Trenches. 

“You know me.” It wasn’t a question. 

She crossed her arms with a shrug and glanced at him in the corner of her eye. It wasn’t much of an answer, but Duran Aeducan took it as one. 

“Rather,” he began, something weary in his voice, “you know who I _was_.” 

The words piqued her interest enough to make her face him, turning slightly to tilt her head up at him. 

“Saying you aren’t a prince anymore?” Natia finally spoke up, raising an eyebrow. 

He met her eyes steadily. 

“I am not anything anymore,” he replied evenly. “I am nothing but dead.” 

She wrinkled her nose, dubious and reactively put off by any allusions to the stone that the bare-faced dwarves of Orzammar loved to praise. 

“That stone shit, huh? You’re dead because someone wrote it?” Natia said, perhaps too harshly. “But you’re standing here; you’re alive.” 

He blinked, perhaps unused in both of his lives to hearing someone disparage a core part of his society. 

“It has been otherwise recorded in the Stone,” he said, final but not impolitely. 

She scoffed. 

“The ‘Stone’ doesn’t want anything to do me,” Natia replied, having often had bare-faced dwarves disparage her for the stone’s condemnation of her kind. “But I’m still here. As much as your type don’t want me to be.” 

He blinked, taking a moment perhaps to realise what she had meant by ‘his type’. He frowned, finally showing a flash of something akin to irritation as he had to repeat himself once more.

“I’m not a prince anymore.” 

“Nug-fuck you aren’t,” Natia replied with a snort, and vindictively delighted in the shock her crudeness caused. She took the moment to point at his cheeks, bare underneath the handsome braids of his beard. “Where’s your brand, if you’re supposed to be dead?” 

He flushed, turning away and letting her realise that she’d poked a sore spot for him. 

“We haven’t had a moment of respite to conduct my funeral,” he admitted quietly, ears slightly pink. 

She turned to the side to once more stare down into the Deep Trenches, something old in her chest thrilling at her conversational victory. 

“Then prince you still are,” Natia said, perhaps somewhat unkindly.

There was a small huff, and it was Duran Aeducan’s time to point a finger at her. 

“And what of you?” He snapped, eager to turn attention away from his own plight. “Do you still consider yourself to be the same casteless woman, now that you have become a Grey Warden?” 

She tilted her head, giving him a funny smile as though the question barely warranted any answer. 

“Course I do.” Her lips twisted, not quite smiling anymore as she leaned slightly towards him and spoke. “I’ll let you in on a secret; it’s not the brand that’s our cause of misery, it’s your folk up top.” She paused, allowing herself a moment to remember the thrill she had felt upon returning to Orzammar and walking with her head high through crowds that would have once spat on her in the past. 

The smile fell from her lips as she looked once again at the former prince.

“And nothing gives me more pleasure than to see how fucking _galled_ your folk were to have to speak to me at all, let alone with a shred of respect.” 

He flushed, seemingly chagrined by her words. 

“Ah... Forgive me,” Duran said, voice even-toned once more in his courtesy. His hands reached behind him to clasp at his back. “I believe I’ve been unkind here.” 

She snorted, the words meaning little in truth. 

“Don’t worry,” she said, voice anything but sincere. “You’re not unique in that.” 

“But I should be,” he replied, and glanced over towards the camp, where his brethren were resting or keeping a watchful eye. “I have fought among these legionnaires long enough now to have set old ideas aside.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Are any of them actually casteless?” She asked, admittedly curious. 

“I’m not sure,” he replied truthfully. “I still believe it rude to pry into their past.” He paused, surveying the bedrolls that held his comrades. “I vaguely recognise one or two faces from the warrior caste, but that’s it.” 

“Bad with faces, are you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m...kind of the same. Fucked me over a bit when I was working for Beraht- I was a bit of a terrible spy.” 

He gave a small chuckle, surprised by her topic change but eager to encourage it. 

“I’m better with faces than I seem,” Duran replied rather cryptically. “Your espionage skills aside, I distinctly seem to remember that you made a rather formidable warrior in the Proving.” 

Natia stiffened immediately, whipping her head to the side to glare at him suspiciously. 

“What do you mean?” She said lowly, eyes narrowed. 

He smiled. 

“I remember your face,” he answered simply, expression calm in the face of her defensiveness. “The shocking revelation of a casteless dwarf winning the Proving? I’d remember that warrior’s face anywhere.”

“But you...you weren’t there,” Natia replied, distinctly remembering everything of that day. “Nobody said anything about a fucking prince in the crowd.” 

He shrugged, a tinge of redness on his cheeks. 

“Nobody knew,” he said truthfully, and then gave a small smile. “It seems I would make for a better spy than you, if you’ll forgive me for saying.” 

She didn’t share in his amusement. 

“If you were watching,” Natia began, staring down at the ground, “then you saw them take me away.” She glanced back up at him, eyes narrowed and accusatory. “You could have done something.”

“There was nothing I could have done.” He shook his head and sighed. “I wasn’t even supposed to be away from the palace that evening, in truth; my brother had talked me into it.” 

She scowled at him, fingers clenched tightly into a fist.

“Oh, your reputation mattered more, did it?” Natia said, and gave a low, mirthless laugh. “Fuck, you lot are the same.” 

“I am not a prince-” Duran began again, but she interrupted him.

“It walks like a prince, it talks like a prince; it _is_ a prince,” she hissed lowly, so as to not wake their companions nearby. 

Duran was silent for a moment, seeming to consider his words before speaking. 

“When I was younger,” he began softly, “I went to the marketplace with my younger brother.” He paused for a moment, a flash of something dark and furious on his expression before it was gone in a blink. “There, a casteless man came and asked for some money.” 

Natia crossed her arms, surveying the man’s expression for any hint of judgement. There was none, and he continued. 

“I gave him the change from our purchase, and on our walk to the palace, my brother praised my benevolence and told me I had the graciousness of a true king.” There was not a shred of arrogance in his words; rather, something bitter in his voice. “My older brother, Trian … ‘heard’ about the incident and later had the casteless man found and beaten for his insolence. All in my name, of course.” 

Natia’s eyes narrowed; she had heard poor rumours of the reputation of the eldest prince of Orzammar. She also vaguely remembered hearing similar rumours of the second-born; apparently, she now had discovered the source of them.

Duran raised his eyes to stare at her once more.

“My younger brother was also with me at the Proving that day,” he told her, voice low and still filled with his bitter undertone. “Anything I could have done...would have been a similar story.” 

Natia was quiet; the bitterness in his voice and the implications of his story told her everything she needed to know about the dwarf she was working for. 

“Bhelen loves my sister,” she admitted, remembering their reunion and the joy on Rica’s face as she had gushed about all of Bhelen’s promises to her. 

Duran’s expression was unreadable. 

“Is that so?” He asked evenly. “Then I wish her well...and I pray it lasts.” 

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could question him further, the prince straightened up and gave a glance back towards their campsite. 

“Forgive me for cutting this conversation short,” he said, brushing down the dirt on his pants. “But I have been told we will be attempting to accompany you to Cariden’s Cross, and I should rest.” He paused, giving her a brief nod and the slightest hint of a smile. “Thank you, Grey Warden.” 

She blinked as he took his leave, making his way back over to the fire and leaving her alone to stare back down into the deep dark of the trenches. 

Natia scowled; she knew that Bhelen was an unsavoury character, and the exiled prince had told her all she’d needed to know. A rock and a hard place was an understatement for her own situation; Natia loved her sister, and she believed that Bhelen did too, but she trusted him about as far as she could throw him. She had never been particular fond of Orzammar, but even she didn’t like the idea of giving its crown to either Harrowmont or her sister’s lover. 

_If only_ , she thought wryly, with a final glance to the silent campsite behind her, _there was another option._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
